Coaching Success

The Rangers have a new coach. He’s a cheerful man who wears enthusiasm like his team’s colors. He smiles and welcomes each player with praise as they run onto the field. “Hey, Johnny! You made it. Good for you!” Each practice begins the same way, with him on one knee looking into the eyes of his young team. He ties shoes and straightens ball caps while giving clear direction. “Here’s how we’re going to become better ballplayers today.” He explains the drills they will run and why each is important. A haystack of hands gives way to a, “Go Rangers!” cheer before they run to their positions.

As far as my five year old son knows, this is how every coach coaches. His red and white t-ball uniform will be a boxed up memory by the time he discovers not every coach wears a ball cap. The best coach I ever had didn’t teach me how to improve my batting, or my backhand. Instead he helped me harness my enthusiasm for my work and channel my energy into being a better teammate and person. I improved my ability to draw up project outlines, realized the importance of staying laser-focused on target audience groups, and got better with each communication plan. I gained enough confidence under his tutelage to start my own business. We never had a company cheer, and he never blew a whistle, but it was obvious he viewed his role as a head coach. 

In the after school practices held in my backyard, I don’t give my son pointers on his swing, or tell him how to throw with more accuracy. I have no idea how to improve either. What I learned from my coach can’t be listed as a statistic on a baseball card.

One warm afternoon just before it was time to go inside for dinner, I watched my son line up to swing at a ball resting on the tee. I noticed his lips move just before he brought the bat around his shoulders. The ball dropped not far from the chalk outline of home plate because he hit the tee rather than his target. Again, he appeared to be mouthing something under his breath just before his second swing. Another miss. The third time he closed his eyes tightly. He pursed his lips and moved them again with more intensity. I wondered.

A favorite song running through his head?

A quiet prayer?

Harsh criticism of his own performance?

I clapped my hands and offered encouragement. “It’s alright. Good effort. You’ll do it this time.” His final swing sent the orb soaring into the trees. He watched with pride before remembering to pump his legs around the bases. We slapped high-fives and celebrated his home run. Breathless he said, “Mommy, I believed in myself and I did it! I said, ‘You can do it,’ and I did it!”

A home run indeed.